


Marred

by chasing_the_sterek



Series: Inktober 2017 [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mary Morstan Doesn't Exist, Angst, BAMF John, Crying Sherlock Holmes, Gen, I wrote this as a precursor to the ship, John Clears Sherlock's Name, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John is a Bit Not Good, John is a Saint, Restored Reputation, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sherlock is Alone, THAT'S JUST BROKEN MY HEART, boom - Freeform, but feel free to bring the goggles of your choice, despite what the summary says Sherlock's not actually dead, i guess, sherlock i'm so sorry that that's a tag, soooooooooooooo much angst, suck it mary, thAT'S A TAG???, though a fic with ghost sherlock coming back to say thanks to john would be awesome, why does everything I write come down to that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12392109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_the_sterek/pseuds/chasing_the_sterek
Summary: Caring is not an advantage. Caring is not an advantage.Oh, God,John.///John Watson has cleared Sherlock Holmes' name, but dead men can still be grateful.





	Marred

**Author's Note:**

> Today's prompt was "ink/tears"
> 
> I saw some awesome fanart recently that heavily inspired this, and by "heavily inspired" I mean that this entire fic is essentially an attempted write-up of the moment they captured. The thing is, I caN'T FIND THE ARTIST WHO MADE IT TO GIVE THEM CREDIT OR A HEADS-UP CAN ANYONE HELP ME???

Sherlock's knees feel faint.

 _"Sherlock?"_ his phone asks. The tinny voice is concerned, discarded on the floor. Sherlock wraps his arms around himself and stares unseeingly at it.

Caring is not an advantage. Caring is not an advantage.

Oh, God, _John._

Sherlock hiccups around the sob that wrenches its way out of his reluctant throat. The phone goes silent and still, listening, probably, but he scrunches his eyes shut, sinks to the floor next to it and lets another sob tear free. Sod the microphone bugs on his burner, he thinks, near-hysterical; Mycroft knows already.

Sure enough:

 _"Oh, Sherlock,"_ Mycroft sighs, small and quiet and sad. He says nothing of disadvantages or caring or opening your heart to certain people only with discretion and caution.

Caring is not an advantage. Caring is not an advantage.

He focuses on the picture entirely by accident:

The frustrated line between John's eyebrows is the same as he remembers. So are the crossed arms, the stance; how many times has Sherlock been on the receiving end of that look? How many more times has he seen it directed at a third party? He can almost hear him, hear him sighing, hear the shifting of his coat as he shakes his head ever so slightly -

There are droplets on the paper, but it's not raining.

Sherlock scrambles backwards. He can't ruin the photo, he can't, this is the first time he's seen John's face in months. A physical copy is better than digital, though it'll need a place to go, somewhere it won't be damaged -

The ink is blurring slightly under the salt of his tears. Sherlock regrets this, not for its rare display of humanity, but for its possible destruction of what caused this whole ordeal.

 _JOHN WATSON CLEARS SHERLOCK HOLMES' NAME_ emblazoned across a front page, under a photo of John doing the scowl that manages to just come across as unreadable to anyone who doesn't know him well.

 _"Sherlock?"_ Mycroft ventures.

Sherlock has never particularly been one for physical contact, but at the moment he would give anything in the world to hug John Watson.

"How does he do it," Sherlock whispers.

Mycroft clears his throat down the line, begins to rattle off the various ways John set about clearing his name (clearing his name!) after he jumped, but Sherlock tunes him out immediately. He wants John to tell him. He wants to find out in increments.

Besides, he thinks, hand locked over his mouth to stifle fresh tears, it's not what he asked.

John Watson is even more of a miracle than Sherlock had ever imagined. One headline, one tiny scowl-line between his eyebrows, and the man has raised a dead man's morale over half the globe.

Conductor of light, as always.

Sherlock shakes around a shuddering breath that wants to vibrate him to pieces on the floor.

Sentiment, sentiment -

_Caring is not an advantage._


End file.
